As their father chased them with laughter adown the winding walk,
Pelting them with red roses so gay this golden even’,
Did a murmur reach him through their childish talk,
Of our baby’s voice that is singing now in Heaven?
Had that child lived, I should not have been so lone;
Sitting here in my vacant room he would come to me,
A great tall lad, with his eyes of honest brown;
Cheering my desolate heart with his sympathy.
Though sometimes, I am glad he is safe within